Boxer's Freedom
by Puppet String
Summary: An Animal Farm one-shot I wrote as a tribute to Boxer. Contains spoilers. WARNING: Dark material. Not for sensitive readers. No bad words or adult content, just a brief sad moment.


_**WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING**_

_**Contains SPOILERS and UNBELIEVABLY SAD CONTENT!**_

_**This is for fellow fans of Boxer, The best horse who ever lived on Animal Farm. ;-;**_

* * *

Boxer just wasn't strong enough to break the van doors open anymore. His lung ached, his back was sticky with the sweat of such a minimal effort, and his legs quit on him.

At this point, he gave up.

"Bye, Clover," He breathed. "Bye, Benjamin."

He lay on the van floor, head down.

"I guess I was wrong," He announced to himself, "Napoleon isn't always right."

After that, he was quiet until the van stopped.

The driver-the shady looking character in the bowler hat, slammed open the doors and walked in, accompanied by two other men.

"Come on, big fella," They growled, "Up and at 'em!"

Boxer looked up.

"Why'd he do it?"

The man was confused for a moment, then grinned.

"You mean the pig?"

Boxer nodded.

"Well, he said he had a horse that was no good to him anymore. Sold you. You were dirt cheep, too! Only cost about the same as a case of whiskey."

Boxer didn't ask any more questions. His old, once-strong heart had just shattered.

He didn't complain or fight as he was pushed back up to his feet, and made no effort to bolt for freedom when he was led out in a flimsy rope.

"Hey, not that I'm complaining or anything," The driver began, "But for a brute like you, you aren't putting up much of a fight. All tuckered out from kicking my doors?" He asked, a small edge to his voice on the last sentence.

Boxer shook his massive head.

"No, that's not it. I've just got nothing to go back to, is all. Working harder won't help Clover or Benjamin or anybody else anymore."

The starving, weathered horse wasn't bothered anymore as he was led to a small room that reeked of blood.

"This is where we leave." The driver announced, tying Boxer to a small, metal hitching bar. As he shut the door, the man faltered. A little twinge of guilt ran through his heart of stone, and he added quietly, "Don't worry, big guy. It shouldn't really hurt..."

With that, he shut the door, leaving Boxer with his thoughts.

"Sugar Candy Mountain," Boxer pondered out loud, "Does it really exist? Up beyond the clouds, like Moses used to tell us?"

He pawed at the ground with his great hoof.

Then, the door opened. A fat, balding man walked in wearing an apron, stained brown and red. He carried a butcher's knife and a small, frail-looking glass syringe, filled with a strange fluid.

Boxer didn't like it.

He swatted with his rail and stamped the ground, letting out a neigh.

"Easy, big guy," The fat man muttered, "Easy. It's only a little poke."

Boxer tugged a little at his rope before he remembered: There was nothing left for him. His friends were gone now-he'd never remember how to get back to the farm. Even if he did, then what? Napoleon would have him killed, and probably Clover and Benjamin, too.

It was hopeless.

Boxer stopped tugging and put his head down.

He felt a small jab, and then started to get very sleepy. Not in a good way- it was an uncomfortable sleepiness. It reminded him of when he would get a little faint pulling the larger rocks up to the windmill on hotter summer days if he didn't get enough water.

As darkness closed in on his vision, bur he vaguely felt the man stroke his mane and pat his shoulder. Then, lights out.

For a moment, Boxer couldn't see anything. Then, a little glimmer of light caught his attention. He noticed that the rope was gone, and his lungs didn't ache. He felt as though he were a young horse again, and galloped toward the light enthusiastically.

It grew larger and brighter as he approached- a beautiful baby blue essence.

Suddenly, he ran right smack into it.

Before him lay a vast stretch of clouds. Boy, did they look different from the top! Delicious tufts of grass sprouted from every crevice, eventually leading to a wide, rippling field that stretched as far as Boxer could see. The only thing that cut through it was a thin, crystal-clear stream, glittering in the sunshine.

A warm breeze blew through his mane, and Boxer could detect a familiar, delicate scent-but what was it? Something sweet...Something he remembered only vaguely. Something he hadn't seen since Jones' time.

Sugar.

He trotted off to his left, tracking the sweet-smelling breeze from its source.

Then, he saw it. A great green orchard, growing every kind of fruit Boxer had ever seen and some he hadn't. Below the trees, another stream wound its way about. It was a white, sweet-smelling river.

Boxer, intrigued, trotted forward to investigate. He bent his great nose down and took a deep breath.

It was warm! And he recognized another scent, too. It was milk- warm milk with sugar in it.

A delicious treat. Boxer eagerly dipped his head and drank.

"Sugar Candy Mountain." He repeated. "A bit flat for a mountain, but I think it's nice. I guess Moses wasn't wrong, after all."

Then, a familiar face emerged from the trees.

"Hello, Boxer," Old Major greeted, "Long time no see."

"Major!" Boxer cried, jumping over the river. "Do you know what's happened to the farm?"

Major nodded solemnly.

"We can watch our old friends from here," He told Boxer sadly, "But we cannot help them. Their fate is in the hands of another- the one who decides when an animal has suffered long enough and then some. Fear not, Boxer; it isn't Napoleon. The one who makes the decision is good. He decides when animals are ready to join us here, or in cases such as Napoleon's, when animals are ready to go to the Great Furnace."

"The Great Furnace?" Boxer asked.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, Boxer. Just a place for evil creatures who've strayed from the path an animal should keep to. Animals like our friends on the farm will join us some day, and enemies like ours on the farm will be banished to the Furnace some day. Until then, we can wait here to greet them. Come now, your time of working harder is finished. Your retirement begins now and lasts forever. Enjoy your true freedom, Boxer. You've earned it."


End file.
